


i got a blank space, baby

by cathedralhearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’re we gonna call him?” Phil asks softly. Bozie sniffles again, his finger coming in to stroke along the baby’s cheek.</p><p>“Do your family’s thing?” Bozie says. Phil shakes his head. Their son doesn’t look like a Phil, and Phil doesn’t want the name to sit ill at ease on his shoulders. A name is a thing for life. He wants to do this <i>right</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i got a blank space, baby

**Author's Note:**

> I've managed to finish five WIPs while stuck at home recovering from surgery, which is all kinds of awesome. 
> 
> I never explain exactly how Phil "has" the baby, but there are some super vague ~illusions towards mpreg, so if that's not your bag, probably best to click away now? 
> 
> Thanks to engine for the lookover a billion months ago, and for not being like "dude wtf" when I said I wanted to write kidfic for these idiots. My original idea was for Timothy Bozak-Kessel, maths genius and completely 110% Not Impressed with his failure dads. I will eventually get around to writing that.

\--

 **zero**.

Phil’s sitting in a nondescript hospital room, a bundle in his arms. He’s looking down at the baby, completely entranced. “Hey, baby,” he whispers at it.

There’s a sound from the doorway and Phil looks up to see Bozie standing there, eyes red-rimmed and looking like he’s about a second away from bursting into tears.

“Is that-- is he--”

“Come say hi,” is all Phil says. Bozie shuffles in, and Phil reaches out an arm and tugs him down into the chair, squashing them together. It totally doesn’t matter though, because Bozie’s plastered against his side, his body heat seeping through his clothes in seconds, warming Phil to his core.

“What’re we gonna call him?” Phil asks softly. Bozie sniffles again, his finger coming in to stroke along the baby’s cheek.

“Do your family’s thing?” Bozie says. Phil shakes his head. Their son doesn’t look like a Phil, and Phil doesn’t want the name to sit ill at ease on his shoulders. A name is a thing for life. He wants to do this _right_.

“Something else. What about… Timothy?” He’d always liked the name. It feels strong, solid. He’s going to need to be a strong kid, Phil thinks.

“Timothy,” Bozie echoes, and nods. “Yeah. Let’s call him Timothy.”

 

* * *

 

**one.**

Tim’s crying because Bozie caught him trying to climb into a cupboard in the kitchen, and managed to rescue him before he fell off and brought down a bunch of saucepans on top of himself.

“C’mon bud, don’t be like that,” Bozie sighs, exasperated. Tim’s just getting over his first cold, and he’s still coughing like a dog -- it makes them both wince.

 

“I found him sleeping in Stella’s bed yesterday,” Phil says between Tim’s coughing jags, showing Bozie the picture he took while trying to smother his laughter. Sure enough, Tim’s cuddled up next to Stella, wrapped around her and sucking his pacifier.

“Did Lulu take him to that baby thing?” Bozie asks, referencing their nanny as he switches Tim to the other hip and ducks the hand that tries to smack him in the face. He glares and shakes a finger in Tim’s face. “No. Naughty baby,” he says as sternly as he can manage… which isn’t stern at all. Phil snorts.

“Frig off, Phil,” Bozie snaps.

“Baba,” Tim cries, and Bozie sighs and presses a kiss to his cheek. Tim’s hair’s come through mostly now, fair but thick, and he’s got Phil’s blue eyes, but all of Bozie’s height and body shape. It makes Phil’s heart hurt to know they have a kid _together_.

“Phil,” Bozie says exasperatedly as he wrestles to get Tim into his high chair, pointing at the pantry. “Can you get something for him? I think he’s hungry, he didn’t eat much lunch.”

“Shouldn’t we be waiting for dinner?” Phil asks, but the Look Bozie gives him says no.

“Lamb casserole… somehow I doubt this tastes as good as Nanna’s,” Phil says as he cracks open the lid and grabs the tiny Leafs spoon the club gave them. Half of Tim’s wardrobe is infant Leafs gear -- Phil figures he’s covered until he’s about ten.

Phil heaps a spoonful and manages to get it in Tim’s mouth while he cries for Bozie, and it shuts him up quick smart. He turns watery blue eyes on Phil and gives a smile, snot running down his nose and his cheeks pink from exertion.

 _Thanks a lot, asshole dads,_ Phil imagines Tim thinking.

“I feel like we just got played,” Bozie mutters, sagging back against the counter. Phil just shrugs and keeps spooning mouthfuls into Tim.

 

* * *

 

**two.**

Bozie’s parents come down for Tim’s birthday, and Tim’s all over his babtsya. Bozie’s proud of his Ukrainian heritage and wants to somehow incorporate that into their kid’s upbringing. Like Phil gives a shit. He just wants Tim not to inherit his cancer susceptibility.

“I made a few different pierogi for him to try, last time he liked the jam ones,” Bozie’s mom says as she peppers kisses on Tim’s face until he squeals. He’s getting so big now-- climbing all over shit, talking more, understanding more, and his eyes are bright and focussed in that sharp way Phil knows both he and Bozie get on the ice.

Bozie wants to take him skating tomorrow, which is Tim’s actual birthday. Phil’s already got Bauer to provide skates and a helmet. They’re both stupid excited.

“I can’t believe it’s the ice already,” Phil’s mom sighs once they get there, because apparently they coordinated and their penthouse is now filled with extended family.

Phil can’t exactly call them in-laws; he and Bozie have been together a couple of years, but they’re still muddling through being parents as opposed to working out their own shit together. Phil thinks maybe one day it could be more, his stomach going warm and tingly at the thought, but yeah-- for now, it’s enough.

“He’s two, plenty old enough!” both their dads chime at once. Everyone laughs, and Tim laughs as well.

-

Bozie’s mom mainlines Tim on eighty different kinds of pierogi while they’re there, and Phil’s dad spends more time with Bozie than Phil feels strictly comfortable with. Bozie never mentions anything when they go to bed together at night, so he just shrugs it off.

Amanda flies in the day of Tim’s birthday, planning on staying a couple of nights to reacquaint herself with her nephew. Blake can’t make it, work or something, and Bozie’s brother can’t come either. Amanda’s more than enough for Tim, though, who’s basically off his face with excitement and passes out as they’re on their way to the rink that afternoon.

Bozie dithers with Tim’s socks, as Phil sits Tim on his lap and lets Bozie strap on his skates. Their families are giving them a wide berth, for what is undoubtedly a Formative Moment for their little family line.

“He’s gotta be a winger,” Bozie says thickly as he straps up Tim’s skates. Tim makes a sound like a dying cow and pats at Bozie’s face.

“Baba sad, why?” he coos. Bozie wipes at his eyes with his sleeves and kisses Tim.

“Just really happy for you, baby,” Bozie says.

Phil has to take a beat to blink the haze from his own eyes, because at exactly no point in the past two years has he felt like he was doing the right thing, until now. Now, everything clicks so perfectly and so completely into place as Bozie takes his hand and Phil carries Tim out to the ACC, free for them for an hour because Phil is Phil and Bozie is Bozie, by association.

“C’mon bud, ice time,” Phil says. He puts Tim down on the ice, and holds onto his hands, straightening up and taking his first step. Tim squeals and wobbles all over the place, but he’s laughing his ass off and demanding Daddy go faster, and Bozie looks like he’s about to fucking burst.

Everyone’s got cameras and iPhones out and Bozie’s got one of Tim’s hands and Phil’s got the other, and between them they do their first slow lap around the ice, helping to pick Tim up when he falls down and brush him off. “More, more!” he yells.

Phil knows being a parent isn’t about always getting it right, and they’re bound to make mistakes-- Bozie’s a disaster of a human being and Phil isn’t much better by any measure-- but between them they’ve made a tiny person, and that tiny person seems to love the ice just as much as them.

 

* * *

 

**three.**

Bozie comes home with a pug, because apparently Tim needs something to be Responsible for. Phil is of the opinion that like, a rock is probably more their toddler’s speed, but Tim gets along great with Stella and reminds them more often than not to feed her and demands they walk her like clockwork.

So, a dog. A _pug_.

Because that’s a thing.

Phil’s injured at the moment, jarred elbow, but Bozie waits patiently as Tim runs off to get his jacket and scarf and mittens, coming back and falling over his socked feet as he stampedes too quickly down the corridor.

“Don’t even think about crying, kiddo, that’s what you get for running in the house,” Bozie calls. Phil shakes his head.

“You’re such an asshole to your son,” Phil grumbles from the couch. He’s got the golf on and Bozie snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Soft American is what you are.”

Phil rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he’s going to pull something in his brain.

“Get out of my face. And bring me back some Timbits,” Phil says, watching as Tim appears, struggling into his jacket at a more sedate pace, a glove falling to the ground as he goes.

He’s an insanely smart kid, already reading from his picture books and he can count up to something ridiculous for his age, and they’re already toilet training. The paediatrician constantly talks about how bright he is, and Phil is beyond proud. They somehow made a smart child between the two of them, and he’s not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“C’mon, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Bozie says from the doorway, where he’s shrugging into his own jacket and pulling a beanie on.

“Okay, I’m coming,” Tim sighs, holding out a hand for Bozie to take. He looks over his shoulder at Phil, who’s watching them both sadly. “Daddy’s not coming?”

“Daddy needs to rest. He just took his pain pills, so. Just you and me today. That alright?”

Phil rolls his eyes again. He can hear the neediness in Bozie’s voice. Their kid is three, for fuck’s sake, and he still acts like the second Tim rejects him in any capacity, he’s going to break apart. Tim’s closer with Phil, but like… Phil would swear up and down that Tim likes Bozie more. If anyone should be paranoid, it’s _him_.

“Yes!” Tim says, before, “Can we get Timbits?”

Bozie laughs and picks Tim up, kissing him. “If you’re good.”

-

When they return home, Tim’s yelling about a _bug_ and there’s a tiny yipping sound. Phil is so glad he took his pain pills when he did, because he’s just started coasting on that nice medical haze and it’ll be just perfect to get him through this.

“ _Pug_ , buddy, like we practised,” Bozie says. Phil gets up and walks into the kitchen, where Bozie’s holding a dog carrier and a huge bag filled with dog stuff.

“Jesus, did you buy out PetSmart? We’ve got so much stuff from Stella already,” Phil says, picking Tim up and hugging him. Tim presses his cold little nose to Phil’s neck and he laughs, kissing him and rubbing his back.

“I got a _pug_ , Daddy, I got a pug!”

“So I can see. Did you thank Baba?” Phil says, because manners are Very Important. Tim’s big blue eyes go very round.

“Yeah, I thanked him _so many_ ,” Tim stage whispers. Bozie’s struggling to keep a straight face as he puts the dog carrier on the floor and reaches inside to pull out a tiny puppy. It’s cream with a black face, and Phil cannot imagine what name their kid is going to try and force upon this thing. Maybe he should veto.

“Tim, we have to name the pug,” Bozie reminds Tim, who twists in Phil’s arms and holds out his hands, making grabby motions at the puppy.

“Careful,” Bozie hedges as the pug yips and wriggles, licking Tim’s face and burrowing into the warmth between Tim’s little body and Phil’s chest.

“Bug,” Tim says.

“No,” Phil and Bozie reply together. Who says they don’t make a good team?

Tim pouts, but he strokes the pug’s little face and thinks hard, his brow furrowing and his bottom lip pouting out.

“Baba,” he says slowly, as Bozie moves away to make coffee, pulling out Tim’s little cup to do him a hot chocolate.

“Yeah, baby?”

“How do you say ‘dog’ in Ukrainian?” he asks. Bozie stills and reaches for his phone, tapping something in.

“ _Sobaka_ ,” Bozie says a moment later, once what Phil is sure Google Translate spits out the answer. Tim turns back to the pug, squishing its little face between his fingers.

“Okay. How about... Soba?”

The pug yips happily and licks at Tim’s face. Phil wonders if more of their personalities have leaked through to Tim than first estimated.

-

“Our kid just put the least amount of fucking effort into naming his pet _ever_ ,” Phil says as they’re getting ready for bed that night.

Bozie’s growing his hair out again, mostly because Phil likes it long (he won’t tell Bozie it’s so he has something to grab, but… it’s kind of obvious considering how much he bitched after Bozie cut it), and he’s brushing it with a comb, wincing as it catches on knots.

“Soba noodles are nice,” Bozie shrugs.

“He didn’t name it after the noodles, though! He just called it ‘dog’... sort of,” Phil says. Bozie shrugs again.

“Whatever. Like we give more of a shit about anything ever.”

He leans in to kiss Phil’s cheek, patting his ass and moving back to the bedroom, leaving Phil to brush his teeth and finish washing his face. He’s got a point there. At least there’s no mistaking the fact he’s their progeny.

His mom is going to kill them.

 

* * *

 

**four.**

“Where are you sending Timothy for school?” Phil’s mom asks over Skype.

They’ve just come back to Toronto from summer break, splitting it half and half like they’ve done for the past four years. First half they spend in Miami and then Madison, and the second half they park it in Regina and get fat while Bozie’s family do their thing.

Phil’s eating dinner, which was a mistake to begin with. Bozie made some pasta thing with cheesy sauce and chicken, and he’s kind of still in summer holiday mode, so he isn’t really equipped to be dealing with his mom’s questions right now. Calling while eating was an even worse idea.

Tim’s in his seat with most of it still in his bowl-- he’s been busy teaching Soba to sit and being plaintive about wanting to feed Soba “human people food”. Bozie, to his credit, has not bowed to neither his son nor Soba’s pleading eyes. Phil is definitely the hardass, which is hilarious considering nobody would consider Phil hard about _anything_ but hockey.

Phil shrugs. It’s awkward because he’s at the breakfast bar, and they probably should be eating at the perfectly good dining room table but Bozie’s taken it over with some papier mache project he’s doing with Lulu and Tim, so they’re on breakfast bar meals for the week.

He likes to think they’re doing something approximating ‘adaptive parenting’ or whatever the ridiculous terminology is. He remembers it from those child rearing books the team flung at them when they arrived at practise, Tim squawing in Phil’s arms and Bozie severely sleep deprived from taking all the night feeds because Phil was sick.

In all honesty, they’re doing the ‘hope for the best’ parenting. Tim seems pretty okay.

“He’s at a kindergarten around the corner from our house,” Phil says around a mouthful of pasta, once he’s had time to think about it. That reminds him, they need to re-enrol him or something. He starts big boy school next year. God.

His mother is Not Impressed with this response.

“Do your research, _Philip Joseph Kessel_. Karyn and I refuse to have our first grandchild’s education suffer because you’re too busy with hockey!”

When the call ends, Tim is shoveling pasta in his mouth and asks if he has to change schools. Sandy Lim won’t share her dumplings with him anymore, so he doesn’t mind.

Bozie just looks worried.

-

There’s several fathers on the team, including Loops, whose girlfriend had a baby girl a couple of years back. She’s a gorgeous little thing and Phil’s pretty sure they’re already trying for number two. Bozie corals the dads for lunch a few days before pre-season camp is due to start, and presents their dilemma after their food has been served

“Where did you send your kids? Apparently we need to send Tim somewhere different,” Bozie says. His knee is jiggling and he keeps jostling Phil, but Phil doesn’t say anything. He’s more focused on his beer and his steak sandwich. He does give a shit about Tim’s education, of course he does, but… this is definitely Bozie’s area.

“You want him to learn French, or are hockey programs more important?” Loops asks.

Phil doesn’t even look up from his food. “Hockey,” they say in unison.

“Upper Canada College has a kindergarten built in and a great ice hockey program, I’ve heard. Boys only though,” Karmarov muses as he strokes his horrific beard.

“Canada’s International School does the French stuff, as well as hockey. He’ll be fluent by the time he hits middle school,” Bernie chimes in. His son is already there and loves it.

“Maybe we should apply to both and whatever he gets accepted into, we’ll put him there?” Bozie says. Phil nods. He’s happy with that.

-

The applications process is lengthy, expensive and Phil’s pissy by the end of it. Having to provide original copies of birth certificates and paying non-refundable application fees (and excesses on top of that depending what campus and language program Tim’s applying for, what the fuck) -- they’re late as well, because you’re apparently supposed to apply the previous school year.

“They’re gonna see the kid’s last name and I bet you he’ll get rushed through,” Lulu tells them that night, once she got all the paperwork together. Phil highly doubts his prestige in Toronto is that great, but they submit all the paperwork to both schools and hope that the month between them applying and the school year starting is enough.

“It’s $32,000 a semester for Upper Canada. And it’s $29,000 for the International School. Do you know how fucking _much_ that is, Phil?” Bozie moans. Phil isn’t the greatest at math but he can figure it out. Bozie’s got his iPhone out and is jabbing at it for them anyway.

“$832,000 for Tim to go to a good private school, on average, at a maximum. That’s an entire fucking year’s worth of work, Phil! And what if he wants to go to college? That’s another hundred thou, minimum, on top of that. How the hell. Did we set up a college fund for him?”

Phil certainly doesn’t say it’s about a fifth of a year’s worth of work for him, because he’s not an asshole and Bozie’s sensitive about the gap between their contracts.

“Yeah, we did. When Tim was born, Mom and Karyn saw our accountants and told them to divert our paychecks for the next forever into that high interest thing. It’s not locked so we can start using it to pay for this. I think there’s over a million in there now, easy.”

Phil’s so glad their moms were on top of that shit, considering how exhausted the two of them were at the time. Bozie looks slightly mollified, and mutters something about pushing for more money next extension. They’re both up for renewal at the end of next year. Phil’s nervous.

-

Of course, Tim gets accepted into both schools with glowing letters and prospectus packs.

“Well, this royally fucking backfired,” Phil says as they pour over them while eating breakfast at the club. Bernie and Neuf laugh, because apparently only Phil and Bozie could overachieve at something like getting their child into a prestigious private school.

“His last name is Kessel, as if they were gonna say no,” Bozie says. Phil’s mouth turns down.

It’d been a huge argument that went on for two days before they signed the birth certificate. Phil was adamant Tim had both of their last names. Bozie was adamant he only had Phil’s.

In the end, their parents had to step in and negotiate. Tim’s birth certificate reads Timothy Bozak Kessel, which breaks in the whole Philip Joseph thing in Phil’s family, with Bozak as his middle name. Phil’s dad had been kind of bummed that they didn’t follow on the name thing with Tim. Phil’s glad they didn’t, because Tim _definitely_ wasn’t a Phil.

(Besides, Phil thinks, in quiet moments when Tim’s passed out after school with Soba snoring loudly next to him, that maybe there’s more kids coming and they can always use the name later.)

“Bozie,” Phil starts. Bozie just kicks him without looking up from the International school -- a warning sign not to fucking go on about it. It’s an old argument, one that Phil insists on fighting more for when more kids happen, because fuck Bozie thinking he doesn’t deserve to share their last name or something.

-

In the end, they choose Upper Canada based on better hockey facilities when they tour it with Tim. Tim’s more excited about uniforms and all the potential new friends.

“We have several sons of high profile athletes and celebrities at the school, along with sons of businessmen and other high-tier individuals,” the woman showing them around says with a serious nod. Bozie snorts -- as if he cares. Phil nods and squeezes Tim’s hand.

“What do you think, bud?” he asks. Tim looks up and smiles, sunny and proud.

“It’s good!”

“You’re not making a mistake, Mr. Kessel, Mr. Bozak. This is a school Tim can grow in, right until he graduates and goes to university,” she says as they’re walking back to the reception area.

Phil looks at Bozie, who’s got Tim in his arms and is pointing at something on the track field.

Yeah, he thinks, _somewhere to grow. I like the sound of that._

 

* * *

 

**five.**

Bozie retires from hockey after Tim turns five, and Phil is seriously thinking about throwing in the towel too.

“Just hold out for the last two years of your extension, Phil. We need the money,” Bozie says that night. Phil’s alright; he’s managed to avoid seriously major injury in most of his career. He’s just tired, and wants to be able to fall asleep next to Bozie every night, if he can.

They’ve invested well enough, he thinks, and the Leafs want him back as a coach. It pays well. Bozie wants to use his degree to get a real job, a regular job that means he can drop Tim off at school and pick him up at night. Phil really wants them to have more kids, too. God. He still has no idea how to have that conversation with Bozie.

Tim’s Tyke team are the Blades, and their games are on a Wednesday afternoon-- which is either great or horrible depending on Phil’s schedule. He can make most games, and that’s what’s important.

Bozie’s always making notes on Phil’s game, chewing on the scarred part of his lip and making Phil’s gut curl with warmth.

It’s been five years and he still wants after Bozie so badly some days, it takes his breath away. They’re only barely in their 30’s and they have a child. When the hell did they become _those_ people?

“Need to work on his acceleration,” Bozie says as they watch Tim tear off down the ice. He skates rings around most the kids, and the coaches are saying he can probably go up to Novice when he’s seven if he’s big enough to handle it.

“Another Sidney Crosby on our hands,” one laughs, jovial and red-cheeked. Phil really fucking hopes not. He’s heard first hand only some of the shit that guy went through when he was a kid. No way is he having his son harassed like that. No fucking way.

“Boze, he’ll learn with the coaches,” Phil sighs, tugging at his beanie and pulling his jacket tighter around him. Bozie makes a noise of dissent and Phil rolls his eyes. Bozie’s been training Tim since he was old enough to zip around, and while Phil isn’t a huge fan of parents teaching their kids the same mistakes they make, he can’t fault Tim’s skating. Tim’s just kind of slow, and really unpolished -- but fuck, he’s only _five_. Phil shakes his head.

“I know you’re thinking he’s slow,” Bozie says, clapping when Tim makes a shot on goal that doesn’t go sliding towards the back of the boards. Tim looks over and waves, and skates off back to the center. They’re working on face off practises today.

“You thinking winger or center?” Phil asks instead, because that’s safer. Bozie shrugs.

“Won’t be able to tell until he’s in Atom.”

Fair enough.

-

Phil takes Tim out for a skate next time he’s home, and they glide around the outdoor rink, enjoying the cold that’s settling over Toronto. Tim still holds his hand while they skate, but breaks away to zoom ahead, wondering if Soba could handle being on the ice.

Stella’s too old now for it, and the cold bothers her, but Soba’s as annoying and snuffly as ever. He spends all his time trailing after Tim and whines when he goes, which drives Bozie crazy. Phil laughs-- fucking karma for buying him a goddamned pug.

“You still like hockey, bud?” Phil asks when they finish, taking off their skates and head to Timmies for a drink. Tim eats his weight in Timbits and drinks a tiny hot chocolate that he still barely get his hands around, while Phil nurses a mocha with whipped cream and watches his son enjoy his drink.

“Yeah, love it. We all love it, right Dad? You, me and Baba?”

“Of course, kiddo. Me and Baba are happy you like hockey. But you don’t…” Phil stops, frustrated. He knows this is an important moment that he needs to reaffirm with his kid. “If hockey ever, y’know. If you ever stop having fun with hockey, it’s okay. We won’t be upset, or sad. Okay?”

Tim looks confused, but blinks up at him with huge blue eyes and nods. “Um, okay. Baba already told me this.”

Phil feels that familiar flood of intimate affection in his chest, of love, fierce and warm. Bozie is such a great dad it knocks him off his fucking feet.

“Good. Well, I just wanted to tell you that too.”

“Alright. Can we go home now? Soba misses me. And I’m going over Sacha’s house this afternoon, we’re having a pizza party!”

Phil drives them back home, drops Soba and Tim off at Sacha’s, and then blows Bozie on the lounge, hot, wet suction and desperation meaning Bozie comes in under two minutes flat.

They almost break their necks tripping over Tim’s toys, lying everywhere, in their haste to get to the bedroom. “What brought this on?” Bozie gasps as Phil shoves him down on the bed and fumbles in the bedside cabinet for the lube.

“You being an amazing fucking dad, that’s what,” Phil says, before diving back in.

 

* * *

 

**eight.**

Bozie is the one who asks if they can have more kids, in the end. Phil says yes so fast it feels like it’s tripping out his mouth, awkward and fumbling, but Bozie grins so wide and bright that it doesn’t even fucking matter.

It takes them a little over a year, and after a very uncomfortable conversation about the birds and the bees with Tim, he’s on board with the idea of another brother or sister.

Uma comes home with them four months after Tim turns eight. It’s a bigger gap than Phil would’ve liked between his kids, but it’s what they’ve got and he’ll take it.

“She’s so tiny,” Tim breathes as he sits on Bozie’s lap, while Phil feeds her from a bottle. Uma’s got dark hair but all of Phil’s round features, and Bozie just cuddles Tim until Tim starts wriggling and protesting how tight Baba’s _squeezing_ \-- he’s not a tomato for Batsya’s sauce, okay. Bozie lets go a little and Tim grabs Soba and hauls him up into his arms, petting the dog and cooing at the baby.

They set Tim up on the couch, surrounded by pillows, and take a billion photos of him holding Uma and singing her songs in French-- because that’s what thousands of dollars a semester gets you. That, and acceptance into the accelerated mathematics program, because apparently their son became some sort of genius when neither of them were looking.

“Timothy excels at logical puzzles and anything to do with numbers. His literary development is on par with children his age, his spelling a little behind but we’ve got him working extra on that... but he really is astounding little boy. We’ve got him covering core materials from grade 5 classes at the moment,” Mrs. Quinto tells Phil and Bozie at Tim’s parent-teacher night. Bozie looks as dumbstruck as Phil feels.

It’s nice, though, once they leave and get Tim and Uma fed and put into bed that night. Phil doesn’t know how it’s been eight years since they had him. He doesn’t feel eight years older. He still feels like the same dumb, lost kid of 26 that he was when they were up six times a night for feeds. He probably won’t ever stop feeling like that.

“Our kid is a math genius,” Bozie says once they get into bed. He rubs his face, and Phil rolls onto his side. His back hasn’t been right since Uma was born, and he’ll need to get a massage if he doesn’t want to seize up over the weekend. Another problem for another day.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Phil says instead. Bozie laughs.

“I think my brother is good at maths or something, I don’t know. Latent genetics,” Bozie shrugs, looking over at Phil. “And I think your dad is going to have a heart attack if we don’t have another kid and call him Phil,” Bozie continues. Phil rolls his eyes.

“It’s Amanda’s turn. Or Blake. I don’t have to be the one to have the Phil kid.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Bozie laughs, and Phil groans and rolls onto his front, pressing his face into his pillow.

“We just had Uma. Can’t he like, give us a year?” he whines. Bozie moves in closer and drops a kiss on Phil’s shoulder.

“If you just want two, we’ll just have two. Your dad can get over it.”

Phil peers out at Bozie, and takes him in. He looks warm and content and happy, older and greyer and wrinklier, sure, but still as amazing as he’s always been.

“Maybe next year,” Phil relents. He does like the idea of continuing the tradition, and the idea of another little Bozak running around. Even if he’s the one who’s doing the night feeds this week, which he fucking hates, no matter how much he loves their daughter. Night fees always suck.

Bozie just leans in further and kisses him, slow and sweet, distracting him from his grumpy acceptance of his fate for the next seven nights.

“Good enough for me,” Bozie says, and moves back to turn off the lamp and pull the covers up, plunging the room into darkness. Phil just snorts and moves closer, pressing his nose against Bozie’s back, listening to Uma breathe over the monitor.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say [hey](http://cathedralhearts.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
